Bat Blood
by Chikorita-Trainer1
Summary: Bruce just wanted to have a peaceful dinner with his family. Unfortunately, Damian is part of that family. Come along for the ride as Damian learns what it truly means to be...THE YOUNGEST. Daddybats fluff. Rated for language. Please read and review.


**Bat Blood**

Chikorita-Trainer1

T

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or anything else I might make references to.

 **Author's note: The plot of this story is very similar to my Yu-Gi-Oh! Story, Reasons. Like I said in my last fanfic, I'm a hack; I write in the same formula over and over again. But I hope you enjoy it just the same. Thank you for reading.**

* * *

Bruce Wayne never allowed himself to get his hopes up too high, if at all. The man was pessimistic, having lost so much at such a young age. He never looked on the bright side of things. It often took the strength of the people around him to get him to lighten up, even for a moment. One night, the Wayne patriarch and his sons sat down to what all of them were hoping would be a nice, family dinner.

How wrong they were.

Bruce sat at the end of the table, with Damian at his right. To Damian's right sat Tim, and across from Damian sat Dick. To Dick's left Alfred would sit, once he had brought everyone their plates.

"Bruce, I finished those reports for the board meeting tomorrow," said Tim.

"Thanks," said Bruce.

"What reports?" asked Damian.

"Just some stock figures and shit," said Tim.

"I wasn't asking _you,"_ Damian snarled. "Father, could I take a look at them?"

"Why?" asked Bruce. "They're done."

"Drake could have missed something. I'm your heir, I should be the one learning the family business," insisted the young Wayne.

"No, you're not," scoffed Tim. "You're ten!"

"So? I'm smarter and more qualified for the job than you could ever be," said Damian.

"Damian, Tim's going to take over the company someday. He's smart and capable. That's just the way it is," said Bruce.

"That's stupid!" Damian declared. "I'm your son, I should be next in line!"

"You're all my sons!" Bruce defended. "What _is it_ with you and entitlement?"

"Yeah, you really do have a complex, Little D," Dick chimed in.

"It's my birthright!" cried Damian.

"Damian, birthrights don't exist in this country," Bruce explained, trying to keep his temper in check. "People leave things to their children, yes, but they don't _have_ to. A person can appoint anyone their successor. It doesn't matter if you're related or not, it just matters who's best for the job."

"What do you mean, 'birthrights don't exist in the country'?" Damian repeated. Bruce had to quickly swallow the food he was chewing on to answer his son.

"This is America! Part of what sets this country apart from others is that it doesn't matter who your family is, you can be anything you want if you work for it!"

"Yeah, didn't you learn American history when you were being taught world history?" Dick asked, half-rhetorically.

"It's a young country. Not much to learn," said Damian.

"Be that as it may, _you're_ young and you have A LOT to learn," said Bruce.

"Father, I've already demonstrated that I have the skills and knowledge to operate the company. That, on top of the fact that I bear your name should be more than enough for you to appoint me heir to the empire."

"Can we please just drop this and have a nice family dinner?" Dick suddenly erupted.

"No, fuck that! I want to know-"

"Damian, don't use that kind of language at the table!" yelled Bruce.

"What, Drake can say 'shit' but I can't say 'fuck'?"

"Enough!" Bruce reinforced.

Everyone was silent for a moment.

"tt. Whatever," said Damian. "Anyway, shouldn't your successor at least bear your name?"

"I DO," said Tim. "Legally, my name is Tim Wayne."

"It doesn't make a difference!" Damian yelled. "Hmph. I suppose the company is only a front for the real inheritance. The Cowl."

"Well, you're last in line for that, too, kiddo," said Dick.

"He's right. You're nowhere near qualified to wear the Bat Symbol," said Bruce.

"What are you talking about?" growled Damian.

" _Oh my gosh,"_ groaned Bruce, bewildered that he was going to have to explain this again. "Look, Dick is the oldest, and the most experienced, therefore, he's first in line. When I die, from whatever it may be, old age, a bullet through the head, whatever, HE will be Batman."

"Fine. I know he's at least semi-capable," said Damian. "And if anything happens to him?"

"Obviously, Tim will carry the torch," said Bruce. "Damian, do you really need this explained to you?"

"Yes, Father. I feel I am due an explanation why everything in this family is being withheld from me despite the fact that I am your firstborn son!"

"OH MY GOSH, Damian, DICK is my firstborn! I know he's adopted, but as we've been trying to get through your head, blood means nothing!"

Once again, the room fell silent. Damian's eyes widened and he looked around the table, desperately searching for someone to defend him.

"Then why do you keep me around?" he asked timidly.

"Because you're my son," said Bruce.

"Yeah, by blood! Which you just said MEANS NOTHING!"

Bruce closed his eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath through his nose, and flexed his fingers as if he were clenching two imaginary stress balls.

" _Let's not do this,"_ he said.

"Why? Suddenly you don't have an answer?" Damian sneered.

"I don't see why you had to open up this can of worms at the dinner table," said Bruce. "I don't understand why you have to make everything pleasant into something difficult."

Dick and Tim looked across the table at each other, and stifled their laughter and grins.

"If blood means nothing, then why do you keep me around?" Damian asked again, this time much more calmly.

"I am not going to entertain these ridiculous questions, Damian," Bruce said sternly. "Now kindly eat your dinner. If anyone else has anything you'd like to discuss, please feel free to share."

"Oh my gosh," Damian scoffed. "You don't have an answer, do you? You've been talked into a corner and your only option is to bail? You don't have an answer! You're wrong and you know it!"

"Not that I want to defend the little brat, but he does have a point, Bruce," said Tim. "You _did_ kinda set something up, and then not follow through on it. If blood means nothing, doesn't that mean we can kick him out?"

Dick stifled his laughter and tried to glare at the middle child, but couldn't help chuckling. He just managed to mouth the words "shut up" to Tim.

"Grayson, you're lucky we're at the dinner table…" Damian began, standing up on his chair.

"Master Damian, kindly replace your rear-end back in that seat! This dining room furniture is as old as the Wayne name itself!" Alfred scolded the ten-year-old.

"THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" screamed Damian. "Every time I try to make a point or bring something to attention, you people reduce everything I say to my being a child, or my minimal time spent in this family! No one takes me seriously, and I'm fucking sick of it!"

"ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT, DAMIAN!" snarled Bruce, slamming his fork down on the table and standing up. "GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

At this point, Tim and Dick both looked down, trying to opt out of the argument immediately. They were both suddenly sorry they had egged Damian on, and now were trying to mask their guilt that they had gotten him in trouble.

Damian refused to budge from his defiant stance. Bruce grippd his son's wrist. _"Damian, do you think I'm kidding?"_ he asked, in a deep, low, serious voice. Damian tried to stare back in attempt of intimidation, but the child already had tears welling up in his eyes. Rather than embarrass himself by bursting into tears in front of the whole family, the child stepped down and turned away. Bruce let his son go upstairs.

Once they heard the SLAM of Damian's bedroom door, Tim and Dick looked back up from their plates.

"I'm sorry we antagonized him, Bruce," said Tim.

"It was nothing that you did," Bruce grumbled. "He got belligerent and arrogant and out-of-line. He doesn't need your help for that."

"I know how he feels, though," said Tim. "Being the youngest, and not being taken seriously. Everyone dismissing what you say just because you're a kid. It's frustrating as hell."

"Yes, but you were never a spoiled, entitled, head-up-your-ass mini-assassin," said Bruce. Dick and Tim both burst out laughing at their adoptive father's utilization of the term "head-up-your-ass."

"Master Bruce, if I may, I suggest you explain to your son precisely what he did wrong and why it was wrong. You may feel that he doesn't deserve explanations, that he should simply accept the rules of the family and the expectations of the modern Western world, but as you said, he is a spoiled mini-assassin. Master Damian was not taught to believe in the ideals and principles you Americans are privileged enough to absorb since birth. The lad deserves explanation, if nothing else."

After a few seconds of silence, Dick actually started a slow-clap for Alfred's words of wisdom. Unfortunately, after about five claps, everyone at the table just looked at him with expressions of confusion or incredulity, so he stopped.

After awkwardly clearing his throat, Dick put his hands down and mumbled "Sorry."

"No, you're right, Alfred," Bruce admitted. "He doesn't understand, and that's not entirely his fault. I'll talk to him after dinner."

"Very good, sir."

* * *

Meanwhile, Damian had been in his room, crying. Not from sorrow, but from anger. And maybe a little from sorrow. He was curled up on his windowsill, looking outside when his father came in.

"Are you alright?" he asked. It seemed mildly inappropriate; asking such a thing as if he had intended for his own son to be suffering.

" _I'm fine,"_ Damian said, his voice scratchy from crying.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel unwanted, son," said Bruce, sitting down on the windowsill. "You know you belong here."

"I just don't understand why everyone belittles me," he sniffed.

"It's partly because you're the youngest, and partly because you just plain invite it."

"How? How do I invite this abuse?!" he cried.

"You are very irritating, son," said Bruce. "I'm sorry, but there's no other way to say it. You have a very irritating personality. You think you can do whatever you want, and it completely clashes with what everyone else in this family has been taught. Now, some of that isn't your fault, it's the way you were raised. And I realize we haven't been as patient with you as we should be."

"Why am I last in line?"

"Because you are the youngest," Bruce began. Damian opened his mouth to speak but his father continued. "And because you have spent the shortest amount of time in this family, in this line of work. You lack the maturity and the experience necessary. And that's what America is all about, Damian; people come to this country with nothing but a dream, they work hard, put themselves through school, get a job, work their way through the ranks, and that's exactly what your brothers have done. They've earned my respect and their share of the Wayne legacy. You still have a long way to go. I have no doubt that by the time you're eighteen you'll have carved out your own niche in the family and the empire. But for now, you're the baby."

"But what you said about blood," Damian said softly. "You said- YOU SAID -blood doesn't matter."

"Yes, only to reiterate that Dick and Tim are not my biological sons, but that doesn't make them less important to me than you."

"So what if, by some happenstance, it turned out that I wasn't your biological son?" asked Damian. "Suddenly, you had no reason to keep me around. Would you send me back to Mother?"

"No, of course not," said Bruce.

"I understand what you meant when you said it, Father," said Damian. "I know it seemed like I didn't get it, but I do."

"Then why are you still so upset?"

"Because you couldn't give me an answer. You keep me around because I'm biologically your responsibility. But is that all I am to you? Is there nothing about me that's unique? If you had found me on the street, like you had Todd, would you have taken me in?

"Son-"

"You took Grayson in because you saw yourself in him when he lost his parents. Todd was a talented street-rat you hoped you could guide in the right direction. Drake impressed you with his intelligence and deduction of your identity. What am I besides your flesh and blood?"

Bruce was silent while he pondered his answer. He just kept staring into his son's blazing green eyes, his heart breaking as the tears just pooled in them once more.

" _Do you even like me?"_ Damian squeaked out. Bruce reached out and pulled Damian into his lap.

"Damian," he said, petting his son's hair. "Of course I like you. You're smart and strong, you're fierce, you never give up. You're always finding ways to surprise me." Damian sniffed again, calming down.

"Perhaps there is some element of vanity," Bruce continued. Damian's eyebrows creased in confusion as he looked back up at his father. "You are like a little me in many ways," Bruce chuckled. "I suppose all parents enjoy seeing their own traits in their children. I guess I'm guilty of that, too."

Damian smiled a little at the compliments he was receiving. "Thanks," he said softly.

"Damian, look at me," said Bruce. He put his hand under his son's chin, steadying his gaze. "It may very well be beyond my ability to explain, but I love you. You're my son, biologically, legally, emotionally, and every way imaginable. I'm sorry that you can only measure my love in titles and appointment of legacies. But those things are only technical. What should establish the strength of my love for you should be the feeling you get when I hold you. When I tell you how much I need you, and how much time and effort I put into making sure you are fulfilled in this life."

"What do you mean by fulfilled?"

"When I punish you, when I scold you, when I try to inform you of things, I'm trying to rear you into a happy, well-adjusted person. Sure, I could give you everything you want, but what kind of adult would that make you?"

Damian shrugged.

"Many people will tell you, when your parents are hard on you, it's only because they love you so much. Parents who let their kids run around and do whatever they want, often end up with the brattiest, laziest, WORST kids in the world. Kids that grow up into adults that NO ONE wants to be around. I want you to be a whole person, and that's why I impose these values on you. You can't just HAVE everything. If you don't earn it, how will you know what it's worth?"

"I know, Father. It makes sense. I know it does."

"Then why are you so angry all the time?"

"I don't know," Damian sighed. "I don't feel comfortable when things aren't…like…real."

"What do you mean?"

"When something can't be explained. It makes me very uncomfortable."

"Yeah. I know how that is," said Bruce. "You're like me; you're a pragmatist. You only accept what you know to be true, not what you _feel_."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," said Bruce. "Unless it inhibits your ability to accept the world around you and the people who love you. Sometimes we all have to just let go of what we know, and trust what we feel."

"And what do you feel right now, Father?" Damian asked. Bruce smiled and pulled Damian closer.

"I feel that I've taught my son something that will help him become a happier person." Damian sighed and closed his eyes against his father's chest. "Am I wrong?"

"No," he said softly. "I'm sorry I was such a brat tonight."

"It's alright. You're still learning what IS and what ISN'T acceptable behavior," said Bruce. Damian extracted himself from his father's arms and hopped down off the windowsill.

"Will I ever get used to it?"

"Of course you will," said Bruce. "Every kid on Earth thinks their life is the most frustrating and that no one understands them. Maybe you just need to have things put in perspective."

"How can I do that?" Damian asked, as he and his father exited his room and went back downstairs.

"You have several big brothers you can talk to about growing up," said Bruce. "Or have you forgotten that?"

Damian rolled his eyes.

"How can they possibly help?" he sneered.

"They've all been through what you're going through, before," said Bruce. "Every one of them has been the youngest at one point, before someone even younger was brought in."

"Yeah, about that. You know Gordon thinks you keep adopting orphans just to fit the Robin suit, right?"

"Gordon can think what he wants of the Batman," said Bruce. "You and your brothers mean the world to me. The fact that you've all aided me as Robin is only secondary to your initial worth."

"I suppose you're right, Father," said Damian, meandering closer to his father as they walked down the hall, and eventually holding his hand.

* * *

"I'm pleased to see you have both returned, Masters," said Alfred, who was clearing the table of dishes when Bruce and Damian got back to the dining room. Dick and Tim were having a bit of dessert.

"Father says I can benefit from your experience being the youngest," Damian mumbled as he sat down beside Tim. "What do you recommend?"

"Me? Uh, well," Tim began. "…I always had to prove myself. I guess my advice is, if you want to be taken seriously, conduct yourself in a serious manner, and always let yourself be led by your brain, not your emotions. Right, Bruce?"

"That's right," Bruce said with pride.

"Ah, don't listen to him, Dami," said Dick. "You want to impress Bats, you gotta take matters into your own hands. Strike out on your own, create your own identity. You feel me?"

"Don't confuse him, Dick!" Tim argued playfully. "Besides, Bruce already agreed with me, so your argument is invalid."

"Ugh!" Dick protested in mock-offense. "Bruce, are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

Bruce chuckled and began to clear away the empty dessert bowls his two older sons had been eating out of.

"Why don't you boys watch a movie or play a video game or something?"

"OK. What're you in the mood for?" Dick asked. Tim and Damian glanced at each other and then back at their eldest brother.

"Which- who are you asking?" asked Tim, unsure which brother Dick had been addressing.

"I don't really feel like playing a game," mumbled Damian.

"Alrighty then. Movie?" said Dick, immediately realizing that he had reminded himself of a certain film. "Ooh! Want to watch Ace Ventura?"

"HA! Yes!" said Tim. "Dami, you'd like it. It's about animals. Sort-of."

"OK," he said.

Bruce chuckled as he tried to picture what Damian's reaction would be to Jim Carrey as his three boys walked into the living room.

Nothing made him happier than when his children got along.

* * *

THE END  
Please review, thanks.


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